Page 85 of Mistaken Identity
I leaned forward and rested my head against a stud in the wall when I heard, “You’re good for him.”
I twisted my head, not lifting it off the wood, and said, “It’s like trying to coax a skittish horse into doing what you want.”
“Is he going to go?” she questioned.
That’s when the smile lit my face. “Oh, yeah. Hopefully she lets him in the door, though, or we’re going to be spending our weekend with my dad.”
Her nose wrinkled. “I guess that’s better than nothing.”
I chuckled, then pushed off the wall and walked toward her.
She still had an armful of bags, and I bent over her to peek into one. “What’d you get me?”
“I stopped at the Mexican food place around the corner.” She held the bag open so I could see the white queso. “I didn’t share any of this with the guys, but I did bring enough chips and salsa to feed ten.”
“They better have thanked you,” I said as I led her into the corner of the room where there was a table set up to cut boards on. “Did you get the fried donut things?”
She scoffed and shook the last bag she was about to place on the table. “How can you go to El Sombrero and not get them?”
I dug into the queso while she started setting out the rest of the food.
She even produced a couple of beers out of her huge Mary Poppins purse.
“Damon used to love this place,” she smiled wistfully. “I’d order him the kid’s meal, and they’d always bring the donuts out with his meal. He’d eat them first every time, then we’d all act like he didn’t get any and we’d ask for more.” She snickered. “The ones closest to our old house used to love him. They even came to his funeral. Brought him some donuts. We buried him with them.”
I pulled her into my arms and dropped my forehead against hers. “He lived a really good life while he was here, baby. He was so loved. You should’ve heard how much everyone talked about him. They never had a single bad thing to say about him.”
“He didn’t have time to get a reputation.” She snickered. “But, man, he was a pretty rotten kid sometimes. He was sick so often though that when he did something naughty, you didn’t want to reprimand him because he was feeling well only such a small amount of the time. So you didn’t want to upset him in any way.”
“So what you’re saying is he was spoiled rotten,” I teased.
Her eyes twinkled as she reached for a chip and completely submerged it into the queso.
Again, something she’d always done.
I’d always gotten a kick out of how much she liked cheese.
I waited until she’d pulled her chip out, which she let drip over an open tortilla in her other hand, before going for a dunk of my own.
We ate and talked about anything and nothing, not a hint of awkwardness between us.
There was, however, a certain understanding.
I knew just as well as she did that the moment we were done eating, I was going to be feasting on something else.
Once I’d broken the dam, it was an unending feeling that simmered beneath the surface: wanting her.
It was something that I almost felt was paramount to living at this point.
She ate half her meal, then offered me the other half.
I took it and ate the enchilada in two bites before scraping the plate clean of her rice and beans—that she did not, under any circumstance, let touch.
I’d just placed the trays down when she was on me, her hands in my hair as she pulled her lips down onto my own.
“Spicy,” she said as she tasted my lips. “Beans and queso, my favorite.”
I growled and picked her up, my hands going to her ass.
